The Calling by Tyche to Alexandros
by Lysis
Summary: Alexandros is visited by the God near his 10th birthday, and begins experiencing signs and portents of what is to come for him.


**_The Calling by Tyche to Alexandros_**

A short story by Lysis

(Copyright 2020 by Elizabeth C. Owens)

There is a welling inside of me, a calling, something wild and pervading it will not let me sleep or allow me to quiet my thoughts. Like the Sirens it chides me, calling, always, "" Come, Alexandros, for your way is before you, come, come." I rise from my bed, and frown, for the smooth linen is warm and familiar and comfortable on this winter eve. My bed beckons as my glance falls back upon it, the great fox and bear trimmed spread is full of warmth. But it would bind me and keep me still when at this moment I cannot be so.

I must move, I must… I only know something calls to me, strongly, so outwardly into the deepness of the night I peer.

For some reason I have been at odds within my own minds, battling over this youth who stands before the window staring out into the snow dressed fields. I know myself, has not every Makedonian and Hellene youth before they are the time of their 8th year taught to know himself, and this I have believed I do, or did. Now I am not so sure.

I have seen the god, Father Zeus. He has clasped me to him, I have felt the burn of his power rise in my blood. That day a fortnight ago, when I first met Hefestion again, after those years apart and ran to the forests to escape Leonidas. I rode high into the Pinearos, letting my pony and thought lead me. To a grove, as ancient as the sacred olive in Athens it was, one could feel the magic stepped around, the ground, the air, all creatures sang of it or rang with it. I knew it was sacred ground. So, I made sacrifice and waited to see if I would be allowed to enter. The large rabbit was received as the red-blue flames shot their plume out high in the night, and I heard then the voice of the Father. His hand came toward me through the fire. He bade me grasp it, I felt the burn, but bear no scar. We spoke without words; such things are for the servants of the gods only to be shared. I speak only of the seeing and what I now know.

Now, deep in the night on the 12th day of Apellaeus, I cast my eyes about my home. Pella, of the wide white stone streets. The garrison where my father keeps his troop, this, I grin this is my second home. Tomorrow I will breakfast there. Tonight, I am with the god, I can feel him breathe inside of me, his fire still burns my blood, I manage to glimpse my face in the looking glass I have secreted from Lanike's rooms and study my face. Is this the face Alexandros or someone else? For truly, the form bears a remembrance to me, but my eyes they, echo back another. My Damon, he has come to live within me. He brings me waking dreams of Akhilleas and Ilium. I can see the plain there, strewn with Akean and dying Apollian guards. I can feel the sea kissed wind in my hair and taste the sea tongue. I must seek my mother for guidance for I know something is changing me.

Casting about my rooms for a light, I tumble across a great body lying at the foot of my bed, it growls, has a lion invaded my rooms? I smile at the fancy of my thoughts, 'tis only my hound, Peritas, and I have awakened him and he is none too pleased. I look past his raised head toward the sanctuary of my bed, and sigh loudly and throw myself back upon its pillowed comfort.

"I seek only one thing this night to quiet my mind and find peace in the arms of Morpheus." So I seek to fool myself, I actually close my eyes, still my breathing, there it grows calmer now, more gentled, I am feeling a little softer in myself, perhaps, sleep will come now I lie there awaiting it, lay my head neatly across the pillow and pretend I dream. This lasts for about the spans of five slow breaths. Now I have awakened even Peritas, he's up and padding about, now he'll begin howling and the palace slaves will come in with frowns upon their tired brows and I'll be chagrined though they will do all I ask to aid me in my quest for sleep.

Oh, how I wish I could just sleep, just quiet the voices in my head. The voice that ring out loud and show me the vistas of vast lands across the Hellespont onto the far mountainous lands of Asia. My blood stirs with each of these visions and the desire to achieve this aim has become ever stronger with each passing day. It has made me restless and wan and even my nurse, Lanike, and my Mother have noticed this. But how do I tell them? They think I dwell with the gods enough, or so Demades does kid me at times, and this has earned him a bloody nose for his intrusive thought. Where he not Hephaistion's young cousin I would bring him down without mercy in the wrestling ring. But so, he is but a child still, and I'll not harm so young a person. Still, he would be wise to keep his sharp wit to himself…. I smile at his face appearing before me, I have conjured it. So bright and clever a mind in one so young, I have found myself more and more looking forward to his company. When in the company of Hephaistion and he, though it is still a rare thing I feel safe, and beyond myself. I am the king I know I will be. Hephaistion doubts this not, even though we have had little time other than a few spare hours to speak our thoughts, but our eyes have always spoken for us and so we speak through other means. So, it is with seers.

As for Demades, he is a blessing, he can cheer his cousin, and have me laughing so hard my sides will threaten to burst. Being young I have only sung and read and heard of love, but I know it real, I know it has names, Hephaistion, Demades, Nearkhos, Ptolemy, and others. Yes, I know of love as Plato speaks.

It is not merely fantasies of the night, but my _Tyche_ calls to me. I hear it clearer and clearer with each passing day, for soon I know it will pass into the daylight hours and stand solid before me and challenge me, "Alexandros, before you lies your destiny, take it up and wear it upon your brow, as the golden wreaths that will one day adorn it." I smile slightly wondering it I am indeed dreaming, for the dreams of ten-year-old boy are indeed wonderous.

2


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